A Family Affair
by livewiresandwildfires
Summary: Alex thought he was an expert in messy, complicated families. Now though? Looking at this little girl? Maybe he hadn't seen the worse families could do. But maybe he could fix it. Written for SpyFest 2018 Week 1.


**Prompt:** Mission gone wrong. All because of a 6 year old girl.

 **Summary:** Alex thought he was an expert in messy, complicated families. Now though? Looking at this little girl? Maybe he hadn't seen the worse families could do. But maybe he could fix it. Written for SpyFest 2018 Week 1.

 **Rated:** T

 **Disclaimer:** Alex Rider and his world belong to Anthony Horowitz. Any reference to a known works should be credited to the original owner.

* * *

Deep cover. A new concept to Alex, most of his missions were undercover, but not for so long. Even so, he was proud to say he had adapted quickly.

After nearly three months undercover as the son of a high up Russian Mafia member, Alex had completely and utterly adopted the mannerisms and backstory of Aleksandr Sokolov. Had become the perfect Mafioso son of Dmitriy Sokolov, his MI6 issued partner. Alex had never wanted to be an actor, yet here he was, method acting with the best of them. Heath Ledger, watch out.

Good thing, too, because _Alex Rider's_ reaction to sudden physical contact was often to panic. His natural reaction when people moved towards him without warning was to lash out.

Punching a Mob Boss in the face would have been a poor move, career wise. And life wise.

Lucky he was Aleksandr Sokolov now, not Alex Rider.

As it was, the eccentric man in front of him pulled Alex into a hug, kissing his cheeks like they were long lost family. Alex prided himself on the fact that he didn`t even cringe - he even refrained from wiping the slobber off his cheek. Alex had never expected the Mafia to be quite this friendly, nor this touchy.

Of course it was a facade. The Mob Boss - outwardly affable - was truly a sadistic, cold hearted killer. Alex could see it in his eyes. Could see where the humour stopped at his smile, leaving his eyes angry.

Then the man - Fedor Orlov - turned to Alex's partner. Remarks were made on what a 'strapping young man' Alex had become and how proud his 'father' must be.

Meanwhile Alex kept a blank expression - following his new mantra that _children should be seen and not heard._ A concept Alex wasn`t familiar with, holding his tongue that is, but again, here he was.

Eventually, pleasantries finished with, Orlov lead the two of them deeper into the compound. Corridors twisted and turned like intestines as they were led further into the belly of the beast.

They entered a room, with a simple desk and chair. A plain office, with nothing important left out to be seen. Alex was more than a little confused, though he would never say so out loud. Him and his partner had been called by the boss, had driven for two days, and had yet to be told why they were here. _Alex_ had been asked for specifically, not Dmitriy.

Dmitriy and Orlov spoke together. Alex furtively examined the room.

His eye caught on another door across the room. In front of it lay a wooden rattle. A child's toy. Alex began to get an idea as to why he was here.

A family affair. The messiest kind.

"I have to tell you, Dmitriy," Orlov addressed Alex's partner, "I am forever grateful that you came all this way to lend a hand."

"Our pleasure," his partner answered. "Of course, it would be helpful if you would relay to me exactly what you need our help with?"

Orlov smiled, flashing surgically straightened teeth, white as a Russian winter. "Apologies, my friend, I've gotten ahead I myself. The issue, you see, is my daughter. My dearest Natasha. She has become a bit of a headache lately, and I think your son might be able to ease that ache."

"My son…" Dmitriy glanced at Alex, brown eyes calculating. Alex could see why MI6 had chosen this particular agent. The eyes, the hair, right down to the facial structure - if Alex didn't know better, he would undoubtedly believe they were family. This agent looked more like his father than any picture of John Rider ever had.

"Yes," Orlov continued. "My daughter returned last year from overseas schooling with her mother in England. I understand your son also studied for a time there?"

Alex tried not to be annoyed that he was being spoken about as though he wasn't there. He had learned this was pretty typical.

"You are correct. Aleksandr spent two school years at a boarding school in London." After all, they needed some kind of explanation for why Alex hadn't been more involved in the family business before now.

"And then he returned and has faithfully accepted your teachings? Has properly jumped into the family business?" Orlov asked.

Dmitriy answered simply: "Naturally."

"Natasha has had difficulty adapting back to life here. She is younger than your son, which perhaps has contributed to her reluctance. I thought young Aleksandr here could convince her otherwise."

"I'm sure," Dmitriy cast a side glance to Alex, who was studiously holding his tongue, "he will be ample help."

Orlov clapped happily, startling Alex, though it didn't show. He gave that winning smile again, though it didn't reach his eyes.

Then he gestured at the door in front of which the rattle sat.

"Go ahead, boy. See if you can talk some sense into my daughter's stubborn skull."

* * *

She was the polar opposite. Not in looks, necessarily - she shared her fathers chestnut hair and matching eyes, the high cheekbones and straight nose and thin lips - but the resemblance ended with the physicalities.

Her father was boundlessly exuberant. Constantly smiling, gesturing, moving. Manic. Yet underneath it all was a hardened man, practically dead already. An icy soul, if he even had one at all. The bright pretense merely covered up the killer inside.

The girl was different. She was still as a statue, a calm energy about her like she had learned the consequences of movement. Children should be seen and not heard, after all. But her eyes… there was a kind of hope in them. A light that hadn't been extinguished by the frost bitten home she lived in.

She was six years old - a child - and she still had childish hopes and dreams.

Alex knelt to look her in the eye, aware of Dmitriy and Orlov watching from the doorway. In his hand he held the rattle, he had stooped to grab it before entering what appeared to be an adjoining suit to the office they had been in.

The rattle was light blue, snowflakes carved intricately into the wood. It also clearly didn't belong to the mature six year old in front of him, but to one of the two babies playing on the mat behind her. Little siblings, Alex supposed. Twins.

"We will leave you kids to get acquainted," Orlov announced. This was quickly followed by the door shutting and the clock of a lock turning.

And Alex was left alone with three children.

Surprisingly, Alex didn't much like children. Not in recent years, anyway. Well, perhaps 'like' isn't the right word. It was just that he wasn't able to connect with them in the easy manner he had once managed. Still, he did his best.

"Hi, Natasha," he spoke softly, choosing English over Russia. He did his best to smile. "I'm Alex."

The girl frowned, tilted her head to look at him properly. "Daddy sent you?" He recognized the slight English accent from her time schooling there. He hadn`t heard that lilt in someones voice in three months. He had to concentrate on not responding likewise, with his native accent.

He nodded. "Yes, he did. Your father… is concerned about you."

Natasha shook her head no. "He doesn't care."

"I'm sure that isn't true," Alex found it difficult to defend a criminal like Fedor Orlov, but he also found it difficult to believe that a parent didn't love their child, even to the smallest extent.

A flash of anger passed over Natasha's eyes, and Alex saw her father in her for a moment. "Daddy is a charing crosser, I hate him. I hate you, too."

Her voice was venomous - more acidic than anyone her age should be able to attain. She called Alex some unflattering things under her breath. Alex caught the term _garden tool_.

Her father had said she had gone to school in England, but it must have been a different area than Alex had grown up in. He understood all of her words... individually. The terms were a little lost on him as a whole.

Charing crosser was cockney slang for tosser, Alex dimly recalled. Garden tool… he had never heard it used the way she had. Often the terms rhymed, so it likely either meant fool or cool.

Alex assumed fool, judging by the context, though he was willing to be optimistic.

Alex bit his lip, knowing he had gotten off to a rough start. Okay, time to backtrack.

"Why do you think your father is so upset, Natasha?"

The girl was pouting now - bottom lip sticking out, arms crossed, the works.

"Daddy wants me to be like him, but I'm not! I'm not like him!"

"No, of course you aren't." How could you be? You're a child, Alex thought. A little girl born into a family she didn't choose. She wasn't like her father, not at all, but… given a few years, under Orlov's firm and unyielding tutelage, she could be. Alex could see how her eyes could harden one day.

And wow, wasn't that just the story of Alex's life?

"Daddy is a bad man," she whispered, like she was sharing a little known secret. "Daddy is a bad man and he does bad things. I don't want to be bad."

The Russian cold must have seeped in - into his muscles and blood, turning his heart as fragile as ice, because in that moment his heart broke. Fractured right down the center.

He opened his mouth, but found no words readily available. From across the room, one of the toddlers began to cry.

Natasha reached out, taking Alex's hand. She held it for a moment, as if trying to transfer her feelings through the power of diffusion. Then she took the rattle Alex held and dashed to her siblings side. Sat in the mat with them, shaking the toy for their attention.

It was the perfect family picture. The older daughter babying her little siblings. Doting on them before they reached the age where they became annoyances.

Before they reached the age where their father would expect them to gain the tricks of the trade.

He couldn't do that. He couldn't let these kids, these innocent children, fall victim to this world. Just because it's the family business, doesn't mean it's right.

Alex had learned long ago that family doesn't always know best.

In that moment Alex knew. He would abandon the mission, let a three month sting go to waste, all for a six year old girl.

He couldn't even bring himself to regret it.

* * *

"God I _told_ Jones it was a mistake to bring a child into this mission! I _told her_ \- God, you're a bloody idiot, Rider!" Dmitriy - now known as Agent Troy Schroeder - lectured him mercilessly from the front seat of the BMW they had stolen.

Alex, however, found it difficult to listen to the admonishments. He was dealing with a predicament of his own: the three children sprawled in the backseat with him, clamouring over him while he tried to buckle them in.

"Just drive!" He shouted absently, finally managing to get the twins situated on either side of Natasha.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Was shouted back.

Alex mumbled under his breath - appropriating Natasha's use of the words _garden tool_. Out loud he yelled:

"Everything is going to be fine!"

"We _failed_ the mission, Rider!"

Alex frowned, still kneeling on the cars floor, trying to keep his balance. He was looking at Natasha, who was smiling genuinely for the first time in who knew how long. He looked at her siblings, the twins, confused but seemingly content to be next to their older sister.

He was going to get them out of here. They were going to be safe. The mission… it could go on without them.

Everything was going to be fine.

"Did we really?"

* * *

 **AN:**

Thanks for reading! As always, I love to hear feedback!

This was fun to write, so I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks to my friend cuby18 for telling me to get involved in SpyFest.


End file.
